Old Faithful (Or: Oh, come all ye fecal.)

I'm sitting in my living room quite contentedly a few minutes ago browsing the Internet. To be quite honest, in the past week or so, this has been one of my more steady posts. I've been out of classes with little work to do on the final frontier (hooray for take-home final exams!) and my work schedule has been as sparse as the hair on the top of Charlie Brown's noggin. I've watched quite a few movies, done quite a few crossword puzzles, and enjoyed more than my fair share of pizza and sugar cookies.

All good things must come to an end, though, no? And today, my happy home on the couch was disrupted. Violently. And with waterworks.

You see, they're building a new home for the Rabbi of Temple Beth Shalom just two doors down from us. While I could not be more happy for the family that will get to share this lovely home (it really does look quite nice from the architect's drawing they posted on the sign), it has proven to be a pain in the...how you say... tuches.

I will not, due to my generous nature, begrudge that the home is to be built upon the happy little field where all the neighborhood dogs used to do their business. Pooper scooper, check. I will not, due to my nonchalant nature, begrudge the fact that our house has been shaking on its foundations for the past three days. Rugged earthquake veteran, check. I will not, due to my shameless nature, begrudge the construction workers who tell me they like my dress or my shirt or simply leer at me as I walk by. Security in the appropriateness of my clothing, check.

What I will, due to my... human nature, begrudge is this:

The downstairs toilet, the simple half bath with the modern sink and Murikami art, was victimized in the most cruel and embarrassing way today. As I sit on the couch, I heard a most frightening gurgling arise from the bathroom. It sounded as if somebody was furiously plunging the toilet to dislodge the fecal matter of Bigfoot. Or perhaps it was Leviathan trying to escape the sea via the pipes of our plumbing. Either way, I arose with a fright.

I wracked my brain. Emily was the last person I saw downstairs. Had she gone into the bathroom and fallen in? Was she now trying to escape? The door was ajar, so I peeked my head in. Suddenly, I saw the problem. Our toilet had become, thanks to the construction two doors down, a bidet.

Water splashed out with avengence. The walls were spattered with the dead carcasses of potty water refugees. The floor was soaked. The smell was unbearable.

I do the only thing I know how to do. Scream. Scream some more. Sound the alarm. "OUR TOILET IS EXPLODING!"

Anna and LaLa go to tell the construction workers what has happened.

"We think it may have been from you guys."
"Yeah. It was definitely us. You shoulda been on it!"

No, sir. Kind construction worker. Nobody should have been on the exploding porcelain grenade. That would have been gross. And, for your information, sending over a man to check it out was appreciated. But he was scared of Charlie, the world's least threatening dog. And he didn't do anything...